


A Change of Pace

by In_agony_and_ecstasy



Series: A Leap of Faith [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - High School, College, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Fighting, First Time, Gender Dysphoria, Goodbyes, Insecurities, M/M, Making Up, Parents, Self-Acceptance, Senior year, Trans Male Character, bisexual!jean, chubby!marco, trans!jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_agony_and_ecstasy/pseuds/In_agony_and_ecstasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deadline for applying to colleges is coming close, and Jean still doesn't know if he's going to school with Marco in Arizona, or staying in Minnesota and going to school with Connie and Sasha. The only reason Jean isn't sure if he'll go with Marco, is because he doesn't want to leave his mom behind. But Marco won't stay because he wants to live with his sister, Ymir, in Arizona. After coming out to his parents went so wrong, she's all the family he has left. </p><p>He and Marco have had a tense relationship since their first time went so wrong, due to Jean's gender dysphoria, and all Jean wants to do is make it right. Maybe if he can, they won't have to separate for college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Change of Pace

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is the final installment. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Now that this is written I'll return to The Things I Used to Know, No More Wrongs to Write, and Our Deepest Secrets. :)

Mom wouldn’t let me skip an entire week of school. Monday night I begged, offered to do all the housework and errands for a week, and even told her I’d get a job over the summer if she’d let me skip. When I started crying, she finally realized this wasn’t about the fight Marco and I had on Saturday. 

She held me in her arms and I didn’t have the energy or ego enough at the time to squirm away. 

When she let go, she gestured for me to sit down at the kitchen table while she made tea for herself and coffee for me. The kitchen and dining room weren’t separated by anything, and our rambler was so small that we were only about ten feet apart. While she put the kettle on the stove she gave me a look like you-should-already-be-telling-me-what-happened. 

Rubbing my eyes, I sighed into my hands. “I had sex with Marco.”

I didn’t want to tell my mom this. Nearly everything that had happened in my life I’d told my mom at some point. But this seemed like the one thing I should have the right to withhold, not to mention probably the one thing my mom really didn’t need to know about her son. 

My mom nodded as she pulled out a coffee filter from the cupboard. She didn’t say anything. Her expression was concentrated, but not disappointed or angry. 

“It uh…he didn’t do anything wrong. It was, um, I don’t know. Nice,” I said. My face burned. 

Which wasn’t a lie, really. Marco _didn’t_ do anything wrong, and it _was_ nice. At least, something about it was nice. It felt nice to have his body surround me, to feel the warmth of his skin all the way down my body. It felt nice to kiss him and wrap myself around him and be so close to him. It sounded so nice when he first started gasping, then moaning, and then my name at the end. Nothing was better than knowing that he had wanted me, he had enjoyed it, and _my_ body had made him feel so good. 

And he’d kissed me between my legs, before it all started, like he’d expected what he saw to be much worse and in the end he wasn’t disappointed. He liked what he saw. 

He could never understand how much that meant to me. 

“But…” my mom added. Her eyes were on the steam puffing out through the spout of the kettle. It hissed, and the coffee machine dripped, and my heart pounded almost louder than both. 

I patted my thigh in my seat, then tapped my foot. My fingers tangled in my hair. 

“I know it’s not supposed to feel like that,” I said, “for me. It wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.”

“I get that,” my mom said, “Having sex for the first time is usually a huge let-down for girls.”

“What the fuck, mom?” I spit.

My mom winced. “Oh, I don’t mean _you_ , honey. I just mean…you know, you have the same picky equipment that girls do. It just takes time, that’s all. Marco doesn’t seem like the type of guy who doesn’t care about your end of the deal.”

“Mom, _what the fuck_. Can you stop? You don’t even – just stop. That’s not what I mean.” 

She glanced my way, saw my face, then mimed zipping her lips. She carried a mug of coffee to me, then grabbed the carton of half-and-half out of the fridge. She set that in the middle of the table. As I poured some in my mug, she said, “What do you mean, then?”

I tried to think of anything I could say to her that would make how I felt clear without having to go too in detail. I didn’t know if I could.

First of all, it fucking hurt. I didn’t know if that was because I was a virgin or because I was dry, but I didn’t care. I had kind of expected it to hurt, since it had the time I used my fingers.

But it wasn’t just that. It was…feeling something inside of me. Something… _penetrate_ me. And the whole time all I could think about was my body wasn’t supposed to be penetrated. It wasn’t like Marco overstepped his boundaries and did something I didn’t want him to do, it just didn’t feel right.

Because as long as I could remember, when I fantasized about having sex, when I let myself imagine I’d been born with a dick and would be able to have sex the way I wanted to, I was always the one doing the uh…penetrating. Even when I imagined myself with a guy. 

So it felt like we were doing sex _wrong_. In my head, I knew the right way to have sex, and what we did wasn’t it, so it must be wrong. 

Then he pulled out, and I felt the way I had when I’d touched myself. Wet, hyperaware, exposed. Marco had rolled off of me, saying something about being embarrassed and all I could think was…he felt embarrassed for not making me come. Because it was a man’s job to make a woman come. That’s why so many guys bragged about being able to all the time. And Marco was embarrassed because he’d failed to do the man’s job, and that must mean that I was the woman. 

Or at least, laying there making the sheets wet sure made me feel like a woman. Being in the position I’d been, on my back, made me feel like a woman. Sliding the condom on him instead of me, laying still without thrusting my hips, and spreading my legs for him all made me feel like a woman. 

“Jean?” my mom asked. She pulled out a chair and sat down with her tea. It was steaming, probably much hotter than my coffee, but she sipped it without cream. I hadn’t even tasted mine. I lifted my mug to take a gulp so she wouldn’t have brewed it for nothing. 

“I mean,” I started, “If I was born with the body I wanted, we wouldn’t have had sex the way we did. And it just…it just fucking sucks. It felt… _wrong_ to do it that way.”

My mom sipped more of her tea. She looked like she was contemplating what I had said this time at least, trying to see it from my perspective. I tapped the tabletop and drank more of my coffee waiting for her response. 

“Listen, Jean. I’m sure I have no idea what that’s like, but I will say this: most people think there’s a right and a wrong way to have sex. And all of them are wrong. You’re just supposed to enjoy it.”

I groaned. I pushed my chair back and leaned forward so that my head was resting on one of my arms. “I didn’t enjoy it.”

“At all?”

“Not enough.” 

“Well, the way I see it is, you have three options. The first, don’t have sex anymore. Nothing wrong with that. The world is big. There’s a lot of other things to fill your time with.”

I snorted. She ignored me. 

“The second, is to keep having sex the way that feels wrong. That way, you can dwell on the fact that you weren’t born a biological boy forever, and never enjoy sex, and also probably disappoint your partner.”

I didn’t snort this time. My eyes met my mom’s. I was going to correct her use of the words “biological boy” but figured she meant nothing by it and I didn’t want to upset her while she was trying to help me. She took a sip of her tea, and arched an eyebrow at me to enunciate her point. 

“What else?” I asked. My face was still burning. I hoped she knew that when this conversation was over I was never acknowledging it ever again and if she ever brought it up to anybody I’d give her the silent treatment for like a week probably.

“The third, is to figure out a way to enjoy it with the body you have.”

She shrugged, as if she hadn’t suggested something that was impossible. I sighed before drinking the rest of my coffee. I carried the mug to the sink and rinsed it out.

“Can I skip school tomorrow?” 

My mom rolled her eyes and deadpanned at me. “No. School isn’t the problem.”

“Come on, Mom. Just tomorrow! Not even the week.”

“Why, so you can ignore Marco? So this problem between you two can stay unresolved forever?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” I responded, even though the questions were clearly rhetorical. 

She shook her head. “You have to figure this out, Jean. Not just for him. You have to do it for you, too.”

I dropped the argument with my mom after that. I knew she was right. Marco was probably really worried about me. I shouldn’t have left him like that after sex, I shouldn’t have told him to go. He had probably gotten the wrong idea. I didn’t want him to think I hated him, or that he had hurt me, or something. At the time, I just needed to clear my head. Every time I looked at him I saw him over top of me. And for once, taking a cold shower hadn’t cleared my mind. 

Long after I was supposed to be asleep, I was still awake. Some of the night was spent playing on my DS, some playing my Ps4. A lot of time was spent throwing a stress ball from a laying-down position on my floor and trying to catch it. About seven whole minutes was spent doing homework, which somehow ended up more or less done. Probably not _well_ done, but I could turn it in at least. Sometime after midnight, Marco had texted me. All his texts were really sweet, of course. I felt like shit for what I’d done, yet wasn’t ready to talk to him about it. All I could do was tell him I still loved him, because I really, really, did. 

Now, I was staring through my blinds. Lightning bugs flashed as they flew past. A streetlight bulb flickered. Morning peeked up on the horizon line, and the night sky was a gradient from navy blue at the top to a tint of gray along the ground. I had to be up in two hours. 

…

The next morning, I found Marco at his locker. Sasha and Connie were there, showing Marco something on Sasha’s phone. When they noticed me, she put it in her pocket as if I were a teacher about to take it away from her. Connie wore his I’m-acting-natural-and-nobody-can-tell-I’m-actually-hiding-something face. I pretended not to see it. Sasha jumped right into being overly excited that I had arrived, probably trying to distract me from the socially-awkward air surrounding us and Marco’s improvised stage fright. His doe eyes were stuck on me. 

“Jean! You’re here today! Are you feeling better?” Sasha asked. I knew she knew that I wasn’t sick. Marco wouldn’t have kept what happened between us a secret. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but then again, Sasha and Connie weren’t known for minding their business. They probably wouldn’t let the subject go. Either that, or Marco had been panicking. He had every right to.

Also, I told my fucking mom. 

“Yeah, I guess.” My fingers gripped on to my backpack straps until my knuckles were right. I turned to face Marco. Forcing a smile, I stood on my toes to kiss him like I always did before first period. It felt like I was just going through the motions. At least Marco relaxed into my touch. Connie and Sasha took it as their cue to leave. 

Marco’s lips parted from mine, but he held me to his chest. Suddenly, the thing I wanted most in the world was to be held by him. I curled into his chest and didn’t give a shit at whoever whistled as they walked by or the barking from football players a few lockers down the hallway. 

“You okay?” he asked, threading his fingers through my hair. He smelled like honey. He was a tea-drinker too, like my mom. They always made tea in the evenings together. Marco liked honey in his. I missed that. 

“Come over later,” I said. Then, remembering that I had been a complete asshole to him, I looked into his eyes and asked, “Please?”

Marco’s eyebrows furrowed. “Really? Are you –”

I kissed him again. “Stay at my place again.”

He didn’t question me this time. “Okay.” 

We separated to go to our classes. I knew I’d spend the rest of the day itching to get home. Even though I had invited him over, it was only because I missed him so much. How I felt about what happened hadn’t changed, and I didn’t want Marco to think it had. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about me inviting him over. 

I tapped my foot through each class. I ate at lunch but didn’t taste it. Marco held my hand under the table. He often did that, but every so often his thumb would stroke my hand, or he’d give it a squeeze, and I knew he was doing it to comfort me. 

By the end of the day, somehow, I felt better. Like maybe this wasn’t the end of the world after all. 

… 

Marco rode home with me. We had gotten passed the awkwardness and uncertainty. We were much closer to ourselves, but still trying not to break the surface and cause any ripples. He spoke about his day yesterday and today. He asked me how my mom was and I told him what I’d done the day before, except for the conversation with Mom. I apologized for not texting him more and he was shaking his head before I’d even finished the sentence. 

Sometimes, everything was just a little easier because Marco was there. Everything that happened in his life, he approached the same way. With optimism, hope, and a calmness that I envied. Of course, he was angry when he needed to be and hurt without trying to be sometimes, but unlike me, he didn’t need a reason to smile. He was always smiling normally. He was very much a life-will-go-on-whether-I’m-happy-about-it-or-not-so-I-should-try-to-be-happy person. He didn’t even have to try to be that person. That was exactly why I needed him in life. Because I was the farthest thing from that person.

After the easy-going drive with him, I pulled into my driveway. My garage roared to life as it lifted itself off the ground. Then I parked my car inside. The garage door descended in my rearview mirror. 

We both stepped out. Marco headed toward my front door. Something twisted in my gut and I hesitated to follow.

“What?” Marco asked, his hand on the doorknob.

“Can’t we just sit in the truck?” 

He shrugged, smiled and walked toward the back of my truck. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t disappointed by my request. Possibly, he was just happy I wasn’t still ignoring him. Maybe I was really overthinking this. 

He climbed into the bed of my truck. First I flicked on the garage light and one of the heaters, before I followed behind him. Once in there, Marco opened up his arms for me to lounge around him the way I usually did. Sometimes I straddled him, sometimes I tucked myself into the crook of his arm, and sometimes I pressed my back to his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. 

Today I sat cross-legged in front of him. So he wouldn’t be hurt, I grasped each of his hands in mine. For the conversation we were about to have, I needed to be facing him. I needed his hands to hold. We’d put off what was really on our minds all day. Now I needed to get it over with.

“I’m sorry I asked you to leave yesterday,” I said under my breath. 

“I’m sorry I gave you a reason to ask me to leave.”

I sighed. Naturally, Marco would have the perfect response. Now I didn’t know what to say. My short-temper was bound to erupt if I didn’t tread carefully, but it was hard. He was sitting here calm and earnest, and completely incapable of understanding. 

Marco’s hand reached up to stroke my cheek. I closed my eyes. My next exhale was drawn out. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened yet?” he asked.

I nodded. “I just don’t know how to say it.”

“Try,” he responded. “Anything you say will be better than bottling it up. You don’t do so good with bottling things up.” He grinned and I snorted. That had to be the understatement of the year. 

“Alright. I know you think I was upset because the sex was bad, or something. But it wasn’t really that. The sex was…still nice. I still liked it, in a way.”

Marco’s eyebrows shot up and he shook his head like he couldn’t begin to understand how what I was saying was true, but he would take what he could get. “Okay…so then what is it? Is it because – Connie thinks it's because…you know, it wouldn’t be easy to have sex without…”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, “You can say it. A dick. It’s really hard for me to have sex without a dick.”

“So, that’s it then?” Marco asked. His voice cracked. He sounded hurt, but I didn’t know why. His eyes were big and glassy, blinking too much. I felt like I should be comforting him.

“Yeah. Having sex the way we did makes me feel like a girl.” This was the closest I’d ever get to explaining dysphoria to someone who’d never have it. 

Marco’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why? Because I was on top?”

I winced. “Well, yeah…I guess. Sort of.”

“You know…if you did have a dick, we’d still be a gay couple. We’d probably both bottom sometimes…”

“But I don’t have a dick.”

“What I mean is, a lot of gay men bottom. It doesn’t make them women,” he explained. “It doesn’t make you a woman.”

While I knew he was technically right, I couldn’t explain why it still didn’t make me feel better. My fingers played with the frays on his flannel sleeves as I thought it over. Marco’s eyes watched my every move with the interest a therapist might have in their patient. Marco rubbed my shoulder. His touch was still warm and comforting. 

“I don’t know. It’s just…how it feels for me. Having you, uh, inside… _there_. It feels like my body isn’t supposed to do that.”

Marco bit his lip again. “We don’t have to do it anymore.”

I groaned. His hands dropped away from me. I reached for one of them, and gripped on to him so that he would know I wasn’t angry with him. Just myself. “That’s the fucking problem, Marco. I _want_ to have sex with you.”

He nodded. His free hand returned to my waist. He leaned in closer to me, studying my expression. “Then we won’t do it like that anymore. We’ll do it some other way.”

“I don’t know another way.” 

“I know. But we’ll figure something out. You just have to talk to me, okay? You gotta tell me when something’s wrong. This is for both of us. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.” At this, Marco blushed and looked away from me. I knew his ego was still a little bent because I hadn’t come. But really, even if he had lasted longer or had been more experienced, I wouldn’t have gotten turned on enough to come in the state I was in at the time. 

Despite myself, I liked what he’d said. “It was really good, then?”

Marco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

I grinned. “I just like to hear you say it.”

He laughed and leaned in and kissed me. I let him linger a while. My confidence had just spiked and I felt like a storm had just cleared up in my chest. This could work. With anyone else, probably not, but with Marco I could make it work. 

Marco smiled. He batted his eyelashes in that unintentional way that made my chest ache. He looked up at me through them, and I about evaporated. “You know why I hate that this happened so much?”

I arched an eyebrow. “You mean, besides me having a breakdown?”

Marco ignored me and continued. “Because, you were exactly what I needed. I never thought…” his voice cracked again, and he let out a shaky exhale. The reason his eyes had gotten so big and glossy, was because he was trying not to cry. I placed my hands on either side of his face.

“Marco?”

“I never thought I’d find someone who accepted me. You know, as big as I am.”

“You’re not even that big,” I groaned, tilting my head back in exasperation. Not that it really _mattered_ how big he was. I just hated so much that he made such a big deal out of something that was well…just not that big. 

Marco sighed. “I’m big enough that people can’t get passed it, Jean.” His tone made me feel guilty for responding the way I had. “ _I_ can’t get past it. At least not…not without trying really hard. But you did get past it and – actually, you didn’t even ‘get past it’. You never had a problem with it to begin with and…and I really needed that. If I had been with someone else for my first time, someone who couldn’t get past my weight, I – I can’t even tell you how hard that would have been for me.”

I gaped at him for a second. Yesterday, I had been way too busy worrying about my own insecurities and dysphoria to even consider he might have been feeling something similar. His weight never crossed my mind. 

Marco’s fingers curled in my shirt. He looked down, so that I couldn’t see his expression. “That’s why it hurts so much that I couldn’t do the same for you. You made me feel better about my body. That’s what a boyfriend is supposed to do, you know? But I couldn’t do it for you. I couldn’t even figure out _why_ you were upset.”

My chest tightened at his words. Now, I scooted toward him, hooking my legs over his hipbones. Hi knees rested against my ribs. I placed my hands on his waist and looked into his eyes. “Marco…when I look at you, it’s not like I see just a chubby person, okay? I see Marco. I see…you know, everything about you, including your weight. But like, I see your weight the same way I see anything else about you. And I love everything about you. So, it’s not like I did anything special yesterday. I just don't think of your weight as this thing that's like... _happened_ to you, or whatever. Like it's something to get rid of, or get passed, or make you feel better about. I just see you.”

I sighed, frustrated I couldn't explain it as well as I wanted to. "All I'm saying is, it's not a big deal and you don't have to thank me for it because I didn't do anything."

Really, it was so much more than that, but I didn’t know how to tell him. The way he carried himself was sexy, walking with a quiet strength and broad shoulders and a high chin. The way he looked like an absolute man in his boxers, like nothing in the world could scare him or hurt him. How little he reacted to lifting or carrying something heavy, how easy it was to picture him picking me up like a purse and barely noticing. How much bigger he was than me, so that when he wrapped me in his arms I was surrounded and protected from everything. Everything about him was all-man to me, and it was achingly sexy to be around. That was also the reason I got so jealous of him sometimes. It was so hard for me to imagine that he could be insecure about his appearance when he was so masculine and strong. 

Marco smiled, and then abruptly interrupted his expression with a look of amusement. “Jean, you know that’s how I look at you too right? I don’t see just a trans guy. I see, you know, you.” 

“I know.” I didn’t know. “It’s not – not about how you see me.”

“It’s how you see you?” 

I nodded. 

He smiled, but it was saddened. “Well, next time – there’s going to be a next time, right?”

I hesitated, but nodded. “I want there to be.”

“Next time – and it doesn’t matter when next time is – we’ll do it your way. We’ll – _I’ll_ make sure it’s good for you. I’ll make sure it feels _right_.”

“Okay.” I smiled, and Marco did too, and he kissed me for a long time. We ended up laying down in the bed of my truck, kissing until my mom got home from work. She opened up the laundry room door, and called into the garage. Both Marco and I perked our heads up over the edge of the bed of my truck. My mom laughed and shut the door on us. 

When I looked back at Marco, he was smiling. The ache that had been in my chest all the night before had melted into a warm, glowing feel of affection for him. I kissed him again. Every time I thought I was going to lose this boy, he came back to me and I was certain I wasn’t anywhere near aware enough of how lucky I was.

Together, the two of us climbed out of the truck and headed inside my house to have dinner. 

…

As early as it was, I was barely awake enough to read. But the chill tugging on my collar and the wind blowing through my hair was starting to wake me up. My eyes stung, and I squinted at the envelope in my hands. It was an acceptance letter from UMD. University of Minnesota Duluth. I knew it was an acceptance letter – although I had not opened it – because it was massive and heavy. 

A few weeks ago, my mom had submitted an application to this school just so I’d have somewhere to go in case Marco left for Arizona without me. Sasha and Connie were going there, so I wouldn’t be alone. But without Marco, I might as well be. 

At the time, I’d been mad at my mom, who had had no idea I intended to go to school with Marco. She had been starting to get nervous about me putting my applications off. She had said, “I just needed to make sure you had _somewhere_ to go, Jean. You don’t necessarily have to choose _this_ school. You don’t even know if you’ll be accepted.” 

So, I had let it go. Mostly because she was right, I couldn’t avoid applying forever. In the fall I was going to college one way or another, one school or another. I couldn’t let Marco, or checking the letter ‘F’ on the application ruin my future. Since she had applied for me, I didn’t have to think about the letter ‘F’ for a while longer, and if Marco was angry with me for applying, I could blame my mom. I ended up saying thank you to her. 

Turning around, I treaded through my damp lawn up to the porch, through the front door, and set the envelope and the rest of the mail on the kitchen table. Then, I returned to the front door and shut it, making sure to turn the knob and push it shut without making a noise. Marco and my mom were still asleep. I wasn’t ready to tell Marco I’d applied to a backup school. 

A couple hours past. My mom was the first to rise. She walked out into the kitchen, said good morning, and began making tea. Shortly after, she joined me on the coach and began knitting. 

“I got my letter from UMD,” I blurted, despite not really wanting to tell her. Saying it out loud made it too real, as if it solidified my decision to go there. 

My mom smiled. It was probably still too early in the day for her to express much excitement. “That’s wonderful, Jean.”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Are you excited?” 

My fingers played with the zipper along the side of one of the throw pillows. “Marco’s not going there.” 

My mom’s expression warped into understanding. She nodded her head. “You know Jean, he’s a fine boy, but you have your whole life ahead of you.”

“I know,” I responded. My whole life ahead of me, _with him_. Or at least I had hoped so. He hadn’t said anything to me about college, not even once. I was beginning to wonder if the reason he hadn’t brought it up was because he was avoiding it. Maybe he was hoping if he didn’t invite me to go with him I wouldn’t ask. 

I felt a pinch in my chest. By the time he left for school, we’d have been together for almost nine months. How could he end it like it was nothing?

Eventually, Marco stumbled out of bed and made his way toward the kitchen, rubbing his eyes the whole way. He wore flannel pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt. Without needing to ask, he poured himself some tea and made himself a bowl of cereal. He lived here as much as I did, and sometimes I pretended my mom didn’t. Sometimes I pretended it was just us, and that this was our home, and that everything was the same except that it was _ours_. 

“Jean got in to UMD,” my mom said. I glared at her and she gave me a look like _oh, please_. 

Marco dropped his spoon in his cereal. He used a napkin to wipe off the drops of milk that had splattered against his face. I would have laughed, if I wasn’t so focused on why he’d reacted like that. 

“R-really?” he asked, “I uh, didn’t know he applied. That’s, uh, that’s really great Jean.”

“I guess,” I mumbled. 

We gave each other a look, and my mom’s eyes flicked between us. “Well, I better get ready work.” She wasn’t discreet, but I was grateful anyway as she set down the scarf she was knitting and left the room. 

Marco carried his bowl into the living room. He set it on the coffee table, and just as soon forgot about it. He faced me. “UMD, huh? Sasha and Connie are going there…”

“I know.”

Marco bit his lip. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?”

“I didn’t really…think I _was_ going there. It was just, you know, a uh…in case.” 

“In case what?” Marco asked.

God, he was going to make me say it. “In case, you know, I didn’t go to Arizona. Uh, with you.”

Marco’s eyebrows furrowed. He stared at his cereal as if it was eight weeks old and he suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of eating it. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to ask you to come. I did.”

“Then why didn’t you?” My voice sounded more hurt than I wanted it to.

Marco shrugged. “Well…we were fighting and –”

“Did you think we we’d break up?” I hissed. My fingers strangled the throw pillow. 

“I didn’t know,” he answered, under his breath. “I hoped we wouldn’t. But…I mean, it’s not just that, Jean. Your mom’s here.”

I swallowed whatever words I had been about to say. I glanced toward the hallway. My mom was humming a tune in her bedroom. I pictured her putting on lipstick and earrings. She would tie her hair back into a bun. Then she’d hang reading glasses from a beaded chain around her neck, because she needed them everywhere she went now.

A moment ago I had been picturing what it would be like to live here without her. Just me and Marco. Now I could hardly stand the thought. It was like I was suffocating. Arizona was on the other side of the country. We didn’t have the money to travel that far very often. How often would I see my mom if I left with Marco? I wasn’t sure she could live without me. It wouldn’t be easy for me to leave her, but I could. I’d manage. But, would she? Would she be okay if I left her?

But, how often would I see Marco if I stayed? Would _we_ be okay if I stayed? 

“Jean,” Marco whispered, “I want you to come with me. More than anything. But, you understand that I could never ask you to leave, right?”

I cleared my throat. When I spoke again it sounded like a rasp. “There’s no chance you’ll stay here?”

Marco sighed. He glanced at the floor, lacing his fingers together. “I’m sorry. It’s not just about being with my sister, you know? I mean, before coming out, it was. But now…she’s the only family I have that accepts me.” 

“ _I_ accept you,” I whispered.

“I know. But…”

“But?” My voice cracked. My hands were shaking. Why did everything always have to hurt so much?

“If we broke up…”

“We’re not going to!” I yelped, “Unless you go to Arizona without me!”

Marco reached for my hand. I tugged it away from him. “Jean,” he pleaded. “You need your mom. I need my sister.”

Marco’s lip quivered. He kept rubbing his neck and pressing his lips together. I knew he was on the verge of crying. He reached for my hand, and squeezed it. 

“Just because I’m there and you’re here, doesn’t mean we can’t still be together.”

I nodded, but I didn’t believe him for a second. The thing about family was, if you left them, they were still your fucking family. Four years down the road, they were still your family. You were obligated to see them at holidays and call them now and then. If someone died, you saw each other at the funeral, if someone got married you saw each other at the wedding. If I went to Arizona, I wouldn’t lose my mom. If Marco stayed here, he wouldn’t lose his sister. Because no matter what they’d be our family members, and no matter how long we went without seeing them, it would never create a distance too far between us and them to mend our relationships. We couldn’t break up with our families.

“We should get ready for school,” Marco said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and glancing at his clock. “We’re running late.”

…

At lunch, as if I hadn’t had enough college talk for one day, Sasha and Connie were chattering back and forth about UMD. 

The only reason it came up was because Marco asked, “So, what are you guys doing this weekend?”

We hadn’t said much to each other, and I thought he just wanted a distraction. Bite by tiny bite, I ate my slice of pizza so that I could use chewing as an excuse not to speak throughout lunch. 

Sasha answered, “Oh! I forgot to tell you! Connie and I are touring the campus this weekend. My dad’s driving us up there.”

Marco’s eyebrows rose. “Oh…that sounds…fun.”

“Well, probably not since Sasha’s dad’s gonna be –”

Sasha elbowed Connie in the ribs to shut him up. “It is. I can’t wait to see the cafeteria. And the dorms! God, I hope I like my roommate.” 

Her words sunk right into my skin. My shoulders hunched. I jerked my head up off the hand that had been holding it up, and when my hand landed against the table top the tray jumped. A few surrounding kids swung around to stare, but lost interest when they realized nothing had spilled.

“Dorms?” I choked. Of course, dorms. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Yeah.” Sasha was nodding, clearly oblivious to my horror. “Some people are lucky and get their own dorm, but I really doubt I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“You can’t room with Connie?” Marco asked.

Sasha sighed. “No…the dorms aren’t Co-Ed. I could join a sorority but I don’t think –”

“You mean,” I started, “There are female dorms and male dorms?”

They all stared at me. Connie, naturally, was the first person to not get it. “Whoa! Dude, did you decide if you’re going to UMD? We could sign up for a dorm together.”

I shook my head. “Connie…”

Marco covered his mouth and shook his head.

“What?” Connie asked. 

Sasha frowned. “Jean, I’m sure they’d let you...”

“I haven’t had anything changed,” I choked. “My birth certificate. My name. My _license_. My application said I was a…”

“Changed to what?” Connie asked.

My eyes widened as I thought about it more and more. They’d assign me to a female dorm. My roommate could be anybody. And even if I had a dorm with Sasha, I’d have to explain to nearly everyone I bumped into why they put me in the female dorms. I could lie, but what lie could explain it? Not only that, but I’d have to use their restrooms. Shower in their showers. Every day, surrounded by girls, who would see me in the restroom. So many opportunities to accidently drop a towel…so many girls who could possibly _pull_ the towel. 

“Everyone would know.” I heard my voice, but couldn’t feel my mouth as I said it. 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Connie said, finally getting it, “Oh, _shit!_ ”

“I’m sure there’s a way to get around it,” Sasha said, but her voice betrayed her. I could hear the doubt.

“Jean? Jean are you –”

Before Marco could finish speaking I stood up, and clutched on to my stomach. “I think I need – I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’ll be right –”

“I’ll come with –”

“No. No don’t. Stay. I’ll be right back,” I stammered, already scrambling to pick up my tray and kick my seat back. I darted to the nearest garbage and dumped my tray. Everyone turned to stare again as my tray slammed down against the stack of the other dirty trays. Seconds later, I ran out of the cafeteria to the nearest men’s room. 

Thankfully, no one was in there. Normally, I avoided the bathroom as much as possible because when I went in there I didn’t want to deal with other guys. Some of them just stared at me in discomfort, others joked under their breath, and the worst of them shoved me into walls or stood outside the stall door preventing me from leaving. They were the same guys that talked about how only girls peed while sitting down. Men used urinals. 

But this time, I threw up the tiny bites of pizza and milk in peace. 

Before I left, I rinsed and wiped my mouth. My breath had to be rancid. I dug in my pockets for a mint or something. All I had was some fruity flavored gum. It would have to do. I chewed it but swallowed right away. 

Once I was in the hall, I gazed at the entrance to the cafeteria. Marco must have realized that a great deal of the reason I needed to leave was because he was there, since he hadn’t followed to check on me. Now, I didn’t think I could go back in there. 

Something heavy thumping against the tiled floor nearby caught my attention. Turning my head, I saw that someone’s calculus book had been dropped. My stare first landed on the combat boots, then the black leggings, then the gray skirt and purple sweater, before finally reaching the long silky black hair I’d somehow been prepared for. Gray eyes met mine, holding a storm inside them so fierce it kept anyone from getting close to her. 

This was the first time in _at least_ two years, that I had let myself look directly at Mikasa Ackermann. The many times I’d caught a glimpse of her before, I turned my head right away. Now that I’d had to relive that party so much in that past couple of weeks, I felt like I couldn’t ignore her. 

I stepped toward her, almost like I was being controlled by someone else, knelt down, and picked up her book for her. Her slender fingers took it from me. It was hard to believe she could fight with those hands, but I’d seen her in gym class. 

“I saw you leave the lunchroom,” she explained. Until now, I thought she just happened to be here. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You looked really upset with Marco.”

I swallowed. “I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not.”

She nodded, hugging her textbook to her chest. She sighed, then swiveled on her heel to walk away from me.

Something in me just couldn’t let that happen. I lunged forward before she got too far away, and placed my hand on her shoulder. 

“Mikasa, listen,” she spun around. I’d never seen her eyes so wide before. She wore that blush again and it made the corners of my vision fuzzy and pink. Hoping to find my way through the haze, I shook my head. 

“Yes?” she asked.

“Listen,” I repeated. Then the words poured out of my mouth like too many of them had crowded in my head, and now they were overflowing. “When you invited me to that party it was one of the greatest things that had ever happened. Because I really, really fucking liked you and I didn’t think you’d ever even notice me. And then, you pulled me away at that party and kissing you was like – like the only thing I ever wanted to do again. It was all I wanted to do all fucking night. I wanted to go farther, too. I lied. I fucking lied so hard to you, because you were – you were so beautiful, okay and I couldn’t – I wanted you, but I –”

“I know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know then, obviously. But I…I know now. You’re…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Not because she had a problem saying it out loud, or didn’t want to admit it. Most people wouldn’t say the word for the same reason they wouldn’t use the word ‘gay’ around children. It was like a bad word to them. She wasn’t doing that now. Mikasa knew it wasn’t hers to say, but mine.

“I’m trans,” I whispered, “I wasn’t ready to tell anybody then. And I didn’t know if you…”

“I would have,” she whispered. “I would have kept going.”

We were quiet for a moment. The silence was crowded with our thoughts, the memory, the ache of speaking to her after so long. I didn’t want to think about whether or not knowing she would have kept going would have changed my decision to leave that night. My whole life would be different if that night had gone any differently. Dwelling on it too much would only hurt me. 

“I really liked you too,” she said, finally.

“I’m really sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

She smiled. Not a wide smile, or a grin. But something sweet and soft. “So, you and Marco.”

“Me and Marco,” I repeated.

“You two…have a good thing?” she asked. Her voice was even, but I could hear the hope in her voice and it hurt. 

“Yeah. We do,” I responded. And even though I loved Marco, and even though I had been having a panic attack over the idea of leaving him behind this morning, and even though I hadn’t thought about Mikasa _that_ way in years…some part of me was still in love with the idea of being in love with her. 

She looked at her toes. Her feet fidgeted where she stood. When she looked back at me, not a trace of hurt or desire remained in her expression. She smiled again. As far as I could tell, it was genuine. “He’s a really good guy. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” 

She turned her body like she was about to leave again, and once more I rested my hand on her shoulder. Some of her hair threaded through my fingers. I let go the moment she faced me. “What about you,” I asked, “You…you’re doing good? Are you still, like, awesome at everything?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m good. I have a full scholarship to the U of M for volley ball. Now that we talked…I’m even better. It’s better to know the truth.”

Despite myself, I blushed and looked away from her. I covered my smile with my mouth. She tucked her chin into her sweater. 

“Bye Jean,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

“Bye,” I nearly whispered, as she walked away. Then louder, I added, “You too.”

…

Marco and I said nothing about college to each other for a week. We didn’t fight either though. Together, we ignored the impending departure as if it was still December and we had just gotten together. 

But yesterday, Marco had gotten a call from his mom. The phone call was short, polite, distant, as if he was on the phone with a telemarketer. When he hung up, he faced me. “My acceptance letter came too.”

Today was Thursday, and we were on our way over to his place. He hadn’t been home in weeks. I hadn’t been there in even longer. I told Marco I probably shouldn’t come with, but he insisted. He explained last time he was there, he’d told his parents that we’d broken up, because he thought we had. Now, he wanted to make it clear to them that we were together. He wanted to give them something that they couldn’t ignore. 

Marco knocked on his front door, which felt a little bit like a slap in the face. His mom answered it. She took one look at him, and another at me. 

“Why’s he here?” she asked.

“Because, he’s my boyfriend,” Marco said. 

I tried to smile, but was pretty sure my face looked like I’d just walked into a glass door. “Hi, Mrs. Bodt.”

She ignored me. “You’re here for your envelope?”

Marco nodded. 

“I’ll get it,” she said.

“I need to grab some more clothes too,” he said, “Since I’ve officially moved out.”

She winced. “I’ll pack for you.”

Marco pulled open the screen door and stepped in. He held it open for me to follow. I hesitated, but entered. 

Marco turned to face her again. “That’s okay, I’ve got it.”

He pulled me by my hand into his bedroom. I sat on his bed, breathing in the familiar scent of his room. His bed was firmer than mine. His room was brighter, because the sun shone through the window he had on the east wall.

Marco swung open drawer after drawer, tossing clothes into a suitcase he had set out next to me on the bed. When the suitcase was almost full, he grabbed a few other personal things that made my chest feel heavy. A picture of his family, a football I’d given to him some years ago after a game, and a few books that were worn from years of being held in his hands. 

We stepped out into the living room. In one arm he held his suitcase, in the other he had his arm wrapped around my waist.

His dad looked up from where he sat on the couch, and his mom ignored us from the kitchen table. She pointed at his acceptance letter on the table. 

Marco asked me to grab it, so I leaned forward to pick it up. His mom’s eyes met mine. They were watery with tears. 

“You,” she said, “You love my son?”

The question caught me off guard, and I stared at her for a second longer than was probably appropriate. “Yes.”

“He loves you?” she asked. I glanced at Marco. He was gaping at his mom.

“I do,” he answered, “More than anything.”

She returned her attention to me. “I don’t know why my kids ended up…ended up like this. But, they did, and I can’t change their minds. No matter how much I want to.”

“Listen, Mrs. Bodt, I –”

“You will take care of him,” she said for me. “You won’t hurt him. You won’t change the boy I raised, do you understand? He won’t be – he won’t be – one of _those_ boys, you hear? If his grades drop, if he gets in any trouble, if he –”

“Mom, I’d never let that happen,” Marco groaned. 

“You let yourself be gay,” she spit, “I don’t know what you will and won’t do, Marco.” She faced me again. “I can’t watch him there. I can’t take care of him. You can. His sister…she’s no help either. You understand?”

She assumed I was going to Arizona with him.

Again, I hesitated, but somehow I made my voice firm and I looked her in the eyes. “I promise, Mrs. Bodt. I don’t want him to change either.”

Although, I wasn’t entirely sure what just happened, Marco’s mom’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. I didn’t think she was actually happy, but maybe she was relieved, or hopeful. Or maybe this was how she convinced herself that she won the fight, that she got through to Marco first. I didn’t know, but at least she had acknowledged our relationship. 

Holding the envelope under my arm, I returned to Marco standing in the entryway. He was still gaping at his mom, but when I stood by his side his gaze veered toward his dad.

“Just don’t get arrested,” Marco’s dad said. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He glanced at me. “Even _more_ stupid. For God’s sake, Marco, give yourself another chance.”

“I won’t leave him,” Marco said, and I thought about what a lie that was. For argument’s sake, he was allowing his parents to believe I’d be by his side. It stung. 

“I know,” Marco’s dad said, “And I’ll never understand that. You may have thrown away your…your life, but you can still have a good career. Don’t throw that away too.”

“I haven’t thrown anything away,” Marco said.

His dad faced Marco. “I’m doing my best here, son. Your mom and I are trying – trying to cope. The least you could do is not let us down any more. Do well in school. Stay out of trouble. And you and Jean…we’ll live with it.”

“What about Ymir?” Marco asked, for the first time sounding like himself, and not so bitter. 

“Her too,” his dad said, “We’ll call her later tonight. Won’t we, Helen?”

Marco’s mom nodded. She sobbed, but she nodded. 

Marco’s face turned between his parents. He sighed, and nodded. “Okay, that’s fair.”

His mom smiled the same way she had at me, and his dad gave one curt nod. “Bye, son.” 

“We just want what’s best for you, because we _love_ you,” his mom said. His dad nodded in agreement. 

Marco looked down at his feet, and he said, “Love you both.”

We left his house knowing that Marco wouldn’t talk to his parents again for months. 

…

Marco didn’t speak to me on the drive home. He stared out the window, but I don’t think he was seeing the road. Each time I stopped at a stop sign or light, he startled, as if he’d forgotten he was in a car.

I reached for his hand, holding it tight as I drove. 

When we pulled into my driveway, he finally said, “I really wish you could come with me.”

I cleared my throat. “Me too.” I didn’t add that it wasn’t my idea to separate. 

“I’m going to miss you.”

I squeezed his hand, and got out of my truck to head inside. I couldn’t handle this conversation right now. If he wasn’t going to change his mind, then I didn’t have time enough left with him to keep talking about it. The passenger door opened and slammed behind me. Then a second pair of footsteps fallowed right behind mine as we walked into the house.

“Mom?” I asked. She didn’t respond. Her shift was longer tonight, then. 

From behind, Marco’s hands slid around my waist. He spun me around to face him.

“Would you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” 

“Come with me,” he answered, “I mean, I know you don’t want to go to UMD.”

A few seconds passed as I thought about it. He was right; the last thing I wanted in the world was to go to UMD. The thought of being put in the female dorms was paralyzing. 

But on the other hand, I still had my mom to think about. I was her only real family. At church and work she had a lot of friends, and she saw them outside of those places now and then. It wasn’t as if my mom was lonely, exactly. But from as early as I could remember I’d been my mom’s world, and she’d dedicated most her life to making sure mine wasn’t complete shit. Without me, I thought she’d be a little lost. 

“What are you thinking?” Marco asked. His fingers threaded through my hair. 

“I’ll miss my mom. But…It’s not really about that. I’d miss her, but I’d still go. It’s more about…how she’ll do without _me_ , you know?” 

Marco pressed his lips together and nodded. In the time that he’d been staying here, he must have noticed how close we were, how protective she was of me. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jean,” he said, “But I don’t think your mom wants you to have to rely on her for your whole life the same way you do now.”

“You think she’ll be okay?” I asked.

Marco smiled. “I think all she’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. She probably knows that…until now, that’s been her job, to make you happy. But I think she knows that it won’t always be that way.”

For a second I thought he was wrong, because earlier when I’d told her that Marco wasn’t going to school at UMD, she’d brushed it off. It had seemed like she didn’t want to me to follow him to Arizona, because I “had my whole life ahead of me.” Now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe my mom had only said that because she hadn’t known that I wanted to go with him. I never specifically said I did. 

“I don’t know…” I said.

Marco bit his lip. “Well, I just…”

“You just?” I asked.

“I’m starting to think I want to be with you no matter what,” he replied. “Even if it means staying here and going to UMD. My parents…they’ll come around, eventually. The only thing is you don’t want to go there and…you should do what you want to do.”

“You’d really stay, if I asked?”

He nodded. “I want you no matter what.”

“I want you too. You’re all I want.”

Marco grinned, and leaned in to kiss me. The kiss was chaste, but I deepened it. I kissed him back hard, pulling him in by his clothing. His arms tightened around my waist. Hands roamed and fingers gripped and sighs escaped. Before I had time to think, I was dragging him to my bedroom. Each second I pushed down the urge to stop him. My heart panicked, in a good way and in a bad way. My stomach fluttered. All I could think about was how everything had gone wrong last time.

But I fucking _wanted_ him and I was so tired of not being able to _have_ him. 

Marco didn’t question what was happening until I pulled away from him to lift my shirt over my head. Once I did, he gave me a concerned look, but must have decided to ignore it. His shirt flew off a second later. When he pressed his chest against mine, I sighed. I still loved that skin-on-skin feeling. It made me remember how it felt to feel his skin against mine along my entire body. 

I wanted this, I reminded myself. _So bad_.

We eased on to my bed, still kissing the whole way. My hands reached for his belt. Marco made a surprised noise while I unclasped it. That was when he parted our lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Can we?” I gasped.

Marco only looked more concerned. “Jean – I – Only if you’re _sure_.”

“I’m sure.” This time, I was. 

So Marco slid his pants down, undressing until he was completely naked in front of me. I shivered. My body tingled. He looked so good. Strong, masculine, muscled arms, and a happy trail. I ran my fingers through the hair. Marco smiled. He still smelled like honey.

My hand slid down his stomach and I grasped his length. Last time we did this, I’d been in a daze the whole time, barely paying attention. But this time, I touched him. _Really_ touched him, not just put the condom on him. I’d never really seen a dick before, up close, let alone touched one. When I was on the football team, guys changed around me all the time, but the only time they got completely naked was when they showered and I didn’t shower with them. Not even after practice. 

Now, grasping it in my hand, I couldn’t believe this was what it was like. I tried not to think about it too much, I just wanted to enjoy it this time. I liked looking at him. I liked touching him. 

When I stroked him, Marco gasped and tilted his head back. A few strokes later he became wet, just like me. I didn’t know that happened to other guys too. It made me smile. 

“Feels good,” Marco rasped, as I kept going. 

“Yeah?” 

Marco nodded with half-lidded eyes. He leaned in to kiss me. His hands were shaking. 

“I want to make you feel good too,” he whispered to me. A shudder ran down my spine.

“I don’t – uh, I don’t know…” I started, trying to figure out a way to say it without offending him. “I don’t want anything inside of me.”

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

I let go of him. Just like last time, I undressed myself. One day I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that, in fact it was a goal. But for now, this was the only way I’d ever managed to undress myself without becoming dysphoric. Slowly easing my pants and boxers down, touching as little of my body as possible, all while I kept my eyes pinched shut. Marco didn’t say anything about it. 

Laying on my back, all I could see was the ceiling and Marco. His eyes were blown out, in awe of me. My body was still tingling. I was getting wet, but Marco was too. This was okay. 

“What are you going to do?” I asked, wondering if he intended to use his hand the same way I had on myself. I thought that would probably work, at least for me. For him I wasn’t so sure. If _I_ didn’t know my body well enough to make it feel good, I could hardly expect him to. He didn’t answer me. 

Marco nudged one of my legs, and like last time I spread my thighs. In some ways, it felt nice to relax like this. I never stayed naked longer than a minute, unless I was in the shower. 

Marco tilted his head down to kiss me. “So sexy, Jean.” I smiled.

Then Marco stood and walked around the bed. When he lay back down, he was between my legs. He inched himself forward enough that I could feel his breath on me. I bit my lip. 

“Tell me if I’m doing something wrong.”

“I’m okay right now.”

“I mean, not just that but…but if it doesn’t feel good, okay?” 

I nodded. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. If I glanced down this would all be ruined. 

Marco kissed me there again, like he had last time. Like last time, I gasped. But this time he kept going. He kissed more than once and with each peck my heart tripped over its beats. I sighed, trying to keep my breath even. 

Each of Marco’s hands spread my thighs wider. I winced. Again, I had to push back the urge to stop us. 

I was expecting him to come face-to-face with me. Which was why when I felt his tongue lave along the crease between my lips I outright moaned. A second passed, and Marco did it again. He used his fingers to spread them open, and then his mouth was caressing that same spot I’d touched when I was alone. 

One thing I was never expecting to be in bed was loud. Part of me thought it was unmanly, and that I should hold it in. But Marco had been loud our first time, and when I covered my mouth now, Marco reached up to pull my hand away. This was all while his tongue and lips kept working me. 

I kept imagining that I had a cock, that Marco was blowing me, and that if I looked down I would see his lips spread around it as he swallowed. I moaned again, and again, and _again_ each time louder than the last. Marco sighed into me, his tongue putting more pressure on me. My fists gripped the sheets to the point I could tear them. My back arched. Legs quivered and hips squirmed. Marco kept going and my vision went white. 

At some point, I was whimpering. My eyes watered. I was _so_ close, so fucking close. My hand reached down to grip in his hair, encouraging him. My moans slurred into Marco’s name now. I moaned his name more than I breathed. I never decided to do it, I just couldn’t keep it in. _Marco, Marco, Marco._

Then, he _sucked_. He sucked just the way he would if I _did_ have a cock. My eyes snapped open to watch. The motion was small, but undeniable. Marco’s head was moving up and down on me. 

_Marco, Marco, Mar –_

I came, quivering and whimpering as the pleasure burst inside of me. My legs, against my will, snapped shut around Marco’s head. I arched again, this time with both my hands gripping his hair. 

Marco took that as his hint to stop, and his lips lifted off of me. My eyes were closed, but he sunk into the bed beside me. His head rested against the pillow. 

“You came?” he asked. 

I nodded, because I was too exhausted to speak. 

Several long minutes passed. My eyes remained closed, but I knew Marco was watching me. I knew he was waiting to see if I’d become upset the way I had last time. Honestly, I was waiting for it too.

But even though my thighs were sticky, and the sheets were wet, and my stomach was smooth and dry, nothing happened. My stomach was a bit jittery, and I knew I wasn’t ready to stand up or look at my body just yet. But I kept picturing Marco sucking me – blowing me, and it was suddenly so much more than sex. So much more than just getting off. 

Marco had made me feel like a man while doing something that would normally force me to feel like a woman. I had never, ever thought I could have that. 

“Jean?” Marco asked.

I turned my head to face him. His eyebrows were furrowed. His jaw clenched. I grinned, and he only looked more concerned. Resting my hand on his chest, I leaned in to kiss him. “That was so good.”

“It was?” I loved how proud he looked. He deserved it, after that. 

“There’s no way you winged that. How did you know how to…?”

Marco blushed. “I kinda got some help.”

“Porn?” 

Marco snorted. “Actually porn didn’t help at all.”

I laughed, trying to picture my gay boyfriend watching straight or lesbian porn for tips on how to blow me. I hoped he hadn’t wasted too much time on it. He had to have been more than a little uncomfortable. 

“I would have paid to watch you watch it,” I said.

“Shut up.” His blush deepened a shade. “Poor Connie tried to help me.”

This time Marco and I both laughed. I could have cried, trying to think of how Connie would possibly go about teaching Marco to do that. 

“Sasha overheard and she was so embarrassed for us, she looked up some stuff online for me to read and I…figured it out from there.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. “It really was good.”

Marco pushed an arm underneath my pillow so he could support my head with it, and kissed my forehead. He turned to face me. When I tilted my head up to kiss him, our bodies pressed together. Velvety skin rubbed against my thigh and I realized he was still hard. He didn’t have to ask me to touch him. We kissed, and I reached down. Stroking him felt so natural. His hardness was close enough to me that I could practically pretend it was my own. My grip was loose, my pace steady, and Marco’s gasps and groans guided me. 

“That feel good?” I asked between kissing.

To answer me, Marco just moaned, “ _Please_.”

After I sped up, and kept my hand focused on the head of his cock, he became wet. My strokes were slicked up. Marco’s kissing was urgent, desperate and he pleaded with me not to stop as if I would. 

When he came, I felt it hot and thick over my hand. Some of it landed on my stomach too, and I moaned into our kiss as his body shook. I let go of him. My hand rested against my stomach. I rolled onto my back. 

When I looked down, it looked like I had jerked off. 

Marco noticed me looking. He asked, “Can I take a picture? It looks, uh…really hot.”

I nodded, even though I hated all the pictures he took of me. “Above the hips.”

Once Marco got a hold of his phone, he took the picture and stared at it for a moment. “Something to help me get through my first semester away from you.”

He was smiling, but it was saddened. I shook my head at him. My hand grasped his. “I’m going with you.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sure. I have to tell mom. I have to apply, make sure I get in and everything. But I’m sure.”

“I have to call my sister,” he said.

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Why would she care that I’m coming?”

“Well, she and her girlfriend are renting a house this semester. Two bedrooms.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re searching for roommates,” he answered, smiling, “And since you don’t want to be in a womens’ dorm…”

I shot up in bed, placing a hand on either side of his face. “Really? You’re not fucking with me, are you? You’re serious?”

He shook his head. “I’m serious.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? You ass!” I blurted and he chuckled.

“I wanted you to come with me because that’s what you wanted to do. You know, not because you felt like it was the only option.”

“Well, I’m going,” I said. Marco grinned.

We talked about school, lying in bed naked, for over an hour before I started to become too aware of my body. Marco was the one to stand and find our clothes. He stood up to dress. I got dressed in my own awkward, cautious, way next to him. But once I was dressed, I realized I’d have to take a shower anyway. I leaked right down the side of my pant leg I was so wet. That felt disgusting, and I knew if I left it I _would_ get dysphoric. 

“Shower with me?” I asked.

Marco looked down at himself, fully dressed, but then back at me. “Really?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I have to keep the light off but…”

Marco was undressed before I even finished speaking. 

For the first time ever, I wasn’t alone in that shower, and somehow, I didn’t need to be either. 

…

I didn’t tell my mom as soon as I should have that I was going to Arizona with Marco. At school, I submitted my application to University of Phoenix online. The school was expensive, but I wouldn’t have to pay for a dorm. Until I was accepted into the school, I couldn’t fill out a FAFSA, but I would need to. Given my mom’s income, I’d probably get a decent amount of financial aid. Somehow, after juggling this issue for months now, everything felt like it was falling into place.

Except for one last thing. It was Friday, and I had to tell my mom.

Marco was sitting with me on the couch. At first, I had thought I’d rather tell my mom with him by my side. But as soon as the front door slammed and I heard my mom humming again, I knew I wouldn’t be able to with him there. She already thought that I was possibly giving up my future for following a boy around instead of picking my own school. With Marco next to me, I felt like that might only confirm her suspicions. 

So Marco headed into the bedroom. My mom walked into the house and went about her home-from-work routine. She took of her shoes. Setting her purse on the kitchen table, she carded through the mail I’d grabbed earlier. We talked politely, about how our days went. She asked where Marco was and I said he was taking a nap in the bedroom. 

By the time she sat down at the couch, flicked the TV on to some cooking show, and began knitting, I was still only barely ready to talk to her about college.

“Something’s on your mind,” she said.

I winced. “That obvious?”

“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled. I sighed. “What’s wrong, Jean?”

As my crutch, I scrunched up a pillow in my lap. I inhaled, held my breath, and exhaled. “I’m not going to UMD.”

For whatever reason, I thought for sure this would be my mom’s end. Charlotte Kirstein’s demise, the day she learned she wouldn’t be able to babysit her son anymore. But like anybody who somehow thought my mom had a weakness, I was wrong. She nodded. “Where’s Marco going?”

She looked up at me. We had the same eyes, but mine looked like lighters being lit in a crowd and hers looked like candles lit in a church. My mom had done everything in the world for me. She had done more than most moms had, even if it was something she didn’t want to do, like divorce my dad. We moved here, she found a new job, new church, and new friends. A whole new life just so that I could go to school and play football and be a normal teenage boy. And I loved my mom, and it didn’t matter how she smiled at me now, I wanted to know how she felt on the inside. If I was doing the right thing, or if I’d leave and we’d never be the same. 

“University of Phoenix, Arizona.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Quite a ways from Duluth.”

“Yeah. I know. A really long ways.” My voice was so weak. 

“Do you need help with the application?” she asked.

“That’s it?” I snapped, “You don’t – you aren’t mad?” 

She set down the same scarf she’d been knitting the past week. Her hands laced in her lap. My eyes met hers again, and they were far fiercer this time. 

“When we moved here, it was so that you could have the same opportunities as any other young man.” Her voice was so low I strained to hear her. “All I’ve dreamed of since you first told me you were transgender, is you growing up and becoming that man you wanted to be. Finding the person you wanted to be with. And doing what you wanted to do with the life God gave you. Right now, you’re the man you want to be – although I’m sure you’ll grow even more. You have Marco. And now, you know what you want to do. You’re going to Arizona. Jean, _I_ made all this happen. And you…but mostly me.” She smirked. I rolled my eyes and she ignored me. 

“What I’m saying is, I never cared where you went. As long as you’re going there for the right reasons,” she said, “Are you?”

Marco’s head peeked out around the corner from the hallway, behind my mom. He too, was waiting for my answer. While I knew I was essentially going to school there to be with him, I also knew that UMD was not meant for me. It never was. I didn’t know what I wanted to do yet, since I couldn’t play football. But I knew that whatever it was, I could discover it and pursue it at Arizona just as easily as I would have been able to at UMD. Phoenix was a bigger, more prominent, prestigious school anyway. And Marco and I were meant to stick together, that much I knew.

I faced my mom again. “Yeah. I am.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” she said. And of course, she pulled me by my wrist up off the coach so I had to hug her. And of course, I did, probably too tightly. When she let go, I wiped my eyes as she turned around and went on one of those they-grow-up-so-fast mom rants on her way into the kitchen to make tea. 

“Oh by the way,” she said.

“Hmm?” I was already on my way to my bedroom. 

“You boys are gonna have to order pizza or something for dinner tonight,” she said, as she put the kettle on the stove. “I’ve got a date.”

My mom’s eyes met mine. She wore that same smirk again and I tried to hide my surprise. It wasn’t that my mom _never_ dated. She’d even had some serious boyfriends since my dad left. But it had been sometime since her last date, and she hadn’t said anything to me about anyone she was interested in lately. 

“Who?” I demanded. 

“Oh, you know.” She waved me off as if it was no big deal. “Someone from church.” 

“I have to meet him,” I said.

“He’s picking me up at seven. Go easy on him, Jean.” She gave me her this-is-a-fake-warning-because-I-know-you-won’t-do-shit-but-I-know-you-might-want-to-so-don’t look. I nodded at her and waved her off this time, like it wouldn’t be a problem for me. It probably wouldn’t. I didn’t hate the last guy. But if this was the guy I was leaving my mom with, I better hold him to a higher standard. Maybe I wouldn’t be cruel or threaten him, but I could make myself a real nuisance for a couple of months.

Seeing my mom’s face though, and the excitement she was trying to hold back, I knew I couldn’t do that to her. She deserved this. 

I left her to make her tea in the kitchen. 

…

Marco’s and my bed was covered from head to foot in cardboard boxes. The sheets hadn’t even been put on the bed yet. The pillows were still packed. 

The floors were wooden, and creaked underneath shoes, but not as much under socks. Our window came with blinds, thankfully. Right now it was open, and the August, Arizona heat seeped in and made the air as thick as smoke. So much for it being a “dry” heat, whatever that meant. I was going to miss Minnesota winters, rain, and even snow. Marco and I would have to find somewhere in the shade to park my truck the nights we wanted to. 

Marco’s footsteps thudded up the stairs in the hallway. He’d done most of the lugging. I was in our bedroom with the box-cutter, slicing each box open. The one I was currently opening didn’t have any bed sheets in it. That was the box I was looking for. Instead, this one had my football jersey in it, among a bunch of other clothes. 

Without hesitating, I tore off my blue tank top and replaced it with the silky, cool red-and-black jersey. 

The floor shook and a bang hit my ears as Marco dropped the box he was carrying on the floor. I glanced at it to make sure it didn’t say “fragile” and it didn’t. He straightened up, rubbing his back.

“You know,” he said, “You could probably still get involved with football somehow.”

“They aren’t going to let me on the team,” I said, “Besides, I was never scouted.”

“I don’t mean trying to play professionally,” he said, walking up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He pressed a kiss into my neck. This heat was going to be a pain in the ass any time I wanted to cuddle with him. The more I thought about the heat, the more irritated I became. “I mean, you shouldn’t stop playing,” he continued, “I’m sure there’s something else you could do. A club. Rugby. Coaching. Something like that.”

“Maybe,” I responded, trying not to sound like I was getting my hopes up. But, like, I definitely was. I turned in his arms to face him.

Downstairs, Ymir – who was a peach by the way – yelled from the bottom of the stairs for Marco to come grab another box. She added, “And tell your lazy boyfriend to help! If Christa can help, he can too!”

“I should tell her not to say emasculating things,” Marco sighed, although I personally didn’t give a shit about what she had said. “I…you know, never told her,” he explained. 

“You didn’t?” I asked. Marco wore a shy expression as he gazed at me now. The Arizona sun had done him some good. His shoulders were already a shade darker than his brown skin, making them look warm and sexy. His cheeks had a red tint, mostly sunburn. Every single one of his freckles was peeking out like they never had before. I wanted him, and now, I didn’t have to deny myself. Tonight, I could show him how much I wanted him. Any way I wanted. 

I smiled.

“Don’t tell her,” I said.

“Why?” 

I shrugged. “Because that’s my job.”

“Are you going to tell people at school?” 

I nodded. “I’m not going back in the closet.” 

Marco smiled. “Me neither.” 

He kissed my forehead. My phone buzzed in my pant pocket. I knew it was my mom asking how things were going. All I had done so far was call her on the drive down, but that was the night before. I hadn’t called her this morning when we left the hotel. “I better call my mom tonight,” I said, knowing we’d be on the phone for a couple hours. She and her new _boyfriend_ would want to know every little detail, among a dozen reassurances that we were being safe and the house wasn’t about to fall apart, and that the campus hadn’t blown up or something. 

“Actually,” Marco whispered, “I think I’ll call mine too.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. “Yeah?” 

He smiled, and rubbed the back of his neck. He nodded. 

Ymir yelled again and Marco sighed. “One second!”

At first I wasn’t sure why he was putting it off, but then he bent down to kiss me. For the first time, in our first home away from home, he kissed me in our bedroom. I’d never been so excited for tomorrow before, so excited for the next week or month or year. And I wondered if this feeling, this feeling of welcoming every day and everything it brought without a doubt in my mind, was exactly what it felt like to know I’d be with him forever.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, my personal tumblr URL is in-agony-and-ecstasy.tumblr.com, and my writing-only tumblr URL is the-only-one-in-color@tumblr.com.


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